Mountain Heiress: Mountain Midwife

by Cassie Miles

  She hoped there wouldn’t be problems at this meeting. Mr. Fox had assured her that she and her brother were Michelle’s primary beneficiaries as long as they fulfilled a few simple terms. But he hadn’t seen fit to outline those terms, and that worried her. If there was a financial component or she had to hire a lawyer of her own, she couldn’t handle it. Her credit cards were maxed, and her life savings were mini. And what would happen if she decided to sell the Roost?

  No point in worrying. Until she knew what was up, she’d just have to trust the Universe. As the truck climbed higher, she turned toward Zach. He was a puzzle she might be able to solve. His conversation had expanded beyond the one syllable responses, but he wasn’t an open book when it came to talking about himself. Hoping to pry out a few details, she asked, “How did you get to be a rodeo star?”

  “I’m pretty good at roping. And I can stay on board a horse that’s trying to pitch me off his back.”

  “A bucking bronco.” She’d seen the movies. Finally, this was something she knew about. “And you have to stay on for eight seconds. I’d like to see that.”

  “You’re in luck. There’s going to be a small rodeo in Snowmass next week.”

  “Are you going to ride?”

  “I’ll be a judge.” He didn’t sound happy about that job. “I’ll be shaking hands, smiling and handing out prizes.”

  “Why did you quit?”

  “It was time.”

  “Do you miss the competition?”

  “Nope.”

  Oh, swell, they were back to the one-word responses. She guessed there was more to the story of his rodeo career. He must have had fans and fame and all the other perks that went with being a popular athlete. “You’ll probably see a lot of people you know.”

  “I’m a judge. That’s all.”

  “Well, judging should be good promotion for your ranch.”

  “That’s what Rhoda says when she signs me up for these things.”

  Maybe the way to get Zach talking was to focus on other people, like his housekeeper. “How did you meet Rhoda?”

  “Through a friend of a friend.”

  “She told me that you showed her what to do.”

  “Not really.”

  She felt him shutting down, retreating into himself. “She said that you trained her the way you train your horses. Since you probably don’t use a bridle and reins, how did you do it? And why? You could have hired someone who had experience.”

  His jaw tightened as though he was physically holding back. “It’s complicated.”

  “I want to know,” she said, “in case you’re planning to use the same training techniques on me.”

  “Have you ever heard of a mustang?”

  “The car?”

  “The horse,” he said. “Mustangs are wild horses that used to range free across the open prairies. According to legend, they might be harnessed but would never truly be tamed. I think of you as a mustang.”

  “A horse?”

  “That can’t be tamed.”

  “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. Had he kissed her as part of a program to control her? To show her who was boss? Zach played the role of the strong, silent type, but he wasn’t naive or innocent. Complicated was a good word to describe him.

  When they drove into Aspen, she was disappointed; the village wasn’t as glamorous as she’d been led to expect. The streets were clean, the landscaping nicely tended and the modern hotels and condos blended very well with stone and brick buildings that were much older. But this place looked like dozens of other ski towns. “What makes Aspen such a big deal?”

  Zach pushed his cowboy hat back on his forehead. “Did you happen to notice the view?”

  The town nestled in the Roaring Fork Valley and was surrounded by forested hills and ski runs. In the distance were peaks that towered higher than ten Empire State Buildings. “Okay, this is spectacular scenery, but I was interested in something other than trees and rocks. I thought this was one of the most expensive places in the country and everybody who lived here was a billionaire.”

  “If you’re in the market for a ten-million-dollar chalet, I could take you on a tour of Starwood.” There was a glimmer of irritation in his sexy blue eyes. “Why do you care?”

  “Marketing.” Her research before she left Brooklyn told her that Aspen had its share of high-end designers like Gucci and Prada. Ralph Lauren even had a home here. But there were other shops that didn’t sound so exclusive. If she could get her designs into a couple of places on consignment, she might be able to make a living. “I need to find a place where I can sell my clothes.”

  “And you want to figure out how much you can charge.”

  “It’s called capitalism.” She wasn’t a natural businesswoman, and she really had to think about how to make a profit. “Don’t worry. I’m not planning to cheat anybody.”

  “I didn’t say you were.”

  “You gave me that look.”

  “What look?”

  “Disapproving,” she said. “As if you think I’m a big city person who wants to take advantage of the locals. Not true. Sure, I’ve sold original wedding gowns with tons of lace and embroidery for over a thousand dollars because the handwork was intensive and it took me weeks to get it right. But I’ve also peddled silk-screened T-shirts from a sidewalk stand for ten bucks apiece. So don’t accuse me of trying to scam my customers.”

  “Fine.”

  She paused to take a breath. She hadn’t intended to go off on a tirade, but she couldn’t stop herself. Where did he get off by judging her? “If anything, I don’t set my price point high enough. I’m worth more.”

  “I get it.”

  “Do you? From the first moment we met, you’ve been looking down on me and disapproving. Do you think I’m trying to run a con game?”

  He pulled up to the curb outside a three-story building in weathered brick and turned off the engine. “Can I talk now?”

  “Please do.”

  “You’re right, Gabby. I didn’t have high expectations for you.” His voice was calm and measured. When he focused his attention entirely on her, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. “Family was important to Michelle, and you never bothered to visit, not even when she was ailing. Then you find out you’re an heiress, and you come running. But I think there’s more to you.”

  “More what?” she demanded.

  He reached over and rested his hand on top of hers. Like his voice, his touch soothed her. “When you gave that little speech, I could almost hear Michelle’s voice. You’ve got her fire and her grit. I don’t think you’re a bad person or a con woman.”

  “Well, I certainly hope not because—”

  “I’m not done talking yet. There’s one more thing I want to say.” He squeezed her hand. “In my opinion, you’re worth a whole lot more than you even realize.”

  His thoughtful compliment floored her. The man didn’t say much but when he spoke, it was good. Once again, he had rendered her speechless.

  “Hop out,” he said, bringing both hands back to the steering wheel. “This isn’t a legal parking space. I’ll drop you off and catch up with you in the lawyer’s office.”

  She climbed out of the truck, grabbed her imitation Birkin bag in fake crocodile and walked up the sidewalk to the building’s entrance. Her apprehension about meeting with Fox had been replaced by a sense of well-being, and this positive feeling was entirely due to Zach. He thought she was like Michelle. Though gritty and fiery didn’t make for a description she would have chosen, she appreciated being compared to a strong, successful artist who was worth more than she realized.

  On the second floor, she entered an office with a brass plaque beside the door that said: Wesley, Warren and Fox, Attorneys at Law. The wainscoted reception area was furnished with expensive leather furniture and dark wood coffee tables, which were probably supposed to make clients feel that Wesley, Warren and Fox were solid, old-fashi
oned and prosperous. The young man behind the front desk didn’t look like he belonged here. His attire—a camel jacket and untucked shirt—were too casual. As soon as she entered, he bounded out from behind his desk and offered his hand. “I’m Kevin. You must be Gabriella Rousseau.”

  She nodded. “I am.”

  “Sorry for your loss. I liked Michelle.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So, I guess you’ll be living at the Roost.”

  “I haven’t made that decision yet.”

  Kevin pushed his long red hair off his forehead and flashed a whitened smile. “My uncle said to show you right in. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee or tea, maybe something a little stronger?”

  Why would she want a strong drink? Was there something he wasn’t telling her? “Coffee, black.”

  He ushered her through an office area where a couple of people were working with computers. The door to Jason Fox’s office stood ajar. Kevin showed her inside a large room with an array of legal texts on one wall and a large west-facing window. The afternoon sunlight poured across a carved oak desk and onto the blue-and-beige patterned Aubusson carpet.

  The elder Fox was also a redhead. Unlike his nephew, his thinning hair was combed back from his forehead. He was dressed in a classy three-piece suit, and the cuffs of his cream-colored shirt were monogrammed. His pale blue eyes assessed her as he shook her hand and offered the standard condolences.

  He directed her to a brown leather sofa and took a seat in the matching armchair. The window light shining behind him made it difficult for her to read his expression, and she suspected that the positioning was purposeful. He could see her more clearly than she could see him.

  After they exchanged pleasantries about her trip across the country and Kevin delivered her coffee with a wink and a smirk, Gabby’s apprehensions returned. She took a sip of the delicious French Roast. The time had come to cut to the chase. “When we talked about Michelle’s will, you mentioned a few simple terms that I would have to fulfill.”

  “You and your brother, Daniel. Unfortunately, I still haven’t been able to locate him. In my position as executor of Michelle’s will, I had wanted to talk with both of you.”

  “That’s not going to happen.” She angled her head in an attempt to see him better. “What are these terms?”

  “Before we get into specifics,” he said as he rose from his chair and went to the desk, “I’d like for you to review the holdings of Michelle’s estate.”

  He placed a thick folder and a bound portfolio on the coffee table in front of her. It would take hours to go through these pages. Gabby thought of her own meager belongings; she could write down everything she owned on the back of an envelope. “All this?”

  “In the folder are legal papers, including deeds, insurance policies, agreements and tax documents as well as a checkbook showing the final payments I’ve made as her executor. The portfolio deals with her artwork, and I’m sorry to say that it’s not complete. I’m still waiting for her agent, Harrison Osborne, to report on other paintings that are out on consignment.”

  Nervously, she opened the portfolio. The first several pages provided an accounting tally of paintings and sales. Farther back in the book were photographs of artwork and indications of what was happening to them. “I noticed other paintings in the house. Should those be included in this inventory?”

  Fox leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Some of the art in the house has already been cataloged. There was one oil painting that she wanted you to own. It’s called Girl with Book and Mirror.”

  She remembered the painting in her bedroom. “I think I know which one it is.”

  “Congratulations, it’s yours. Osborne will provide you with the authentication. If you decide to sell, I suggest you go through him since he is the foremost expert on Michelle Rousseau.”

  If Michelle had wanted her to have that particular painting, there must be a reason. “I’d never sell a keepsake like that.”

  “I wasn’t aware that you and your great-aunt were so close.”

  His condescending tone bordered on a sneer, and she figured that Fox was another person who didn’t approve of the way she had treated her great-aunt. His judgment was unfair. After all, Michelle had been the adult and Gabby the child during most of their relationship. And Michelle was the one who had abandoned Brooklyn. Definitely unfair, but Gabby wouldn’t defend herself. She wished things had been different between Michelle and herself, and she didn’t owe the attorney an explanation of her family dynamic.

  When Kevin showed Zach into the office, she almost cheered. At least, she had one person on her side in what was beginning to feel like a war between her and Fox. Zach made an impressive ally. Not only was he a big guy but he was cool enough to be intimidating. In his white, Western-style shirt with pearl buttons and his navy blue sport jacket, he was the very picture of cowboy chic. Instead of sitting beside her on the sofa, Zach took a position beside the desk that kept him from facing the glare from the window.

  “I’d rather stand,” he said. “I’ve been sitting in the truck all the way over here.”

  “Very well.” Fox scowled as he returned to his chair and turned to her. “Shall we start with the insurance policies?”

  “It’s going to take a while to go through all this paperwork. I’d like to hear about the terms I’ll be required to fulfill.”

  “Of course.”

  Curious, she asked, “Why didn’t you explain these terms when we first spoke on the phone?”

  “I was bound by the will. Your great-aunt forbade the mention of her requirements until you were here in Colorado.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s just say that she had some unusual ideas.” Though she couldn’t clearly see Fox, she heard a smug tone in his voice, and she sensed that the ax was about to fall.

  Bracing herself, she said, “I want to know.”

  “Your great-aunt had a strong sense of her heritage, and she wanted the Roost to remain in the hands of a Rousseau. She arranged for a monthly stipend to be paid from her estate for the care of the property. I can’t give you an accurate statement of the amount because we haven’t determined the final figures.”

  “How about a ballpark number?” Gabby asked.

  “It would be sufficient to pay monthly bills and provide for basic living expenses.”

  So far, so good. Even if she didn’t stay at the Roost, a caretaker would need that stipend. “What else?”

  “In order for you to inherit the estate, Michelle stipulated that you and/or your brother, if we can ever locate him, must agree to live at the Roost for the period of three years. You cannot be absent for more than two months per year.”

  She’d never heard of anything like this. “Can she do that? Tell me where to live? When I can come and go?”

  “The will is very specific. Of course, you can fight it. These terms are odd, somewhat Draconian. But a legal dispute would take years to work through the court system.”

  Confused, she looked toward Zach for some kind of reassurance. He shook his head. No help from that direction. “What if I refuse?”

  “If you choose not to live there, you forfeit your claim on the estate. It will be sold, and the proceeds will go to Sarah Bentley’s Forest Preservation Society.”

  “Who?”

  “Ms. Bentley runs a nonprofit organization dedicated to protecting and managing the local flora and fauna.”

  And why should she receive the bulk of the estate? What was going on here? “I don’t understand.”

  Fox rose from his chair and joined her on the leather sofa. When he took her hand and held it between both of his, she felt trapped and threatened at the same time. Maybe she should walk away before it was too late. Rule number three when confronting a mugger: run like hell.

  “It’s all right,” Fox assured her. Like his nephew, his teeth were exceptionally white; she imagined those fangs sinking into her neck and sucking her blood. “I’ll do a
ll that I can to help you.”

  “Can you rewrite the will?”

  “I’m afraid not. I promise that you won’t walk away empty-handed. However, in order to participate financially in the bulk of your great-aunt’s legacy, you must live at the Roost.”

  She didn’t like it. But she didn’t have much choice.

  Chapter Seven

  On the street outside the attorney’s office, Zach sucked down a breath of fresh air. He’d been stifling while he watched Fox use his wiles to manipulate Gabby into a corner. The lawyer was like a rattlesnake that had cornered a baby rabbit and was playing with his prey. “I don’t trust that guy. He’s up to something.”

  “Like dictating the terms of my life,” Gabby said. Her arms were filled with the fat legal file and the portfolio with the inventory of artwork. “Is it possible that Fox invented those crazy terms? It doesn’t seem like something Michelle would do.”

  He wasn’t so sure. “She was really interested in the Rousseau family heritage. I know she did research online to trace your ancestors. Did you know there was a famous artist named Rousseau?”

  “Henri Rousseau,” she said, shifting her burden from one arm to the other. “He was a Postimpressionist. And there was also a famous philosopher. Those are the names that pop up when you do a search for Rousseau, but our family isn’t related to either of them. I guess that Rousseau is a fairly common name in France, like Russell.”

  Taking the hefty file and portfolio from her, he directed her to the right. “Let’s get something to eat.”

  “Kevin offered me a strong drink as soon as I came into the office. I wish I’d taken it.”

  Getting drunk wasn’t a solution, as he well knew. But he understood her desire to escape from the complications that had been literally laid at the doorstep of the Roost. “I don’t blame you for being overwhelmed.”

  “Here’s the crazy part. I was seriously considering moving here. Michelle’s old studio at the Roost would make a perfect workroom for my designs and sewing. And there really isn’t any reason to go back to Brooklyn. No boyfriend. No job worth keeping. And I gave my share of the apartment I was renting to my roommate, whose fiancé moved in with her.”